


Mirror me

by Shatterflowerdemon



Series: Perception [2]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alphys is a good friend, Angst and Drama, Breakups, Deception, Dork with glasses, F/F, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Other, Toxic Relationship, Your alternate self kinda sucks tbh, but can just be read as sans working in a lab tbh, can technically be read seperately, check previous installment for context, nothing too heavy tho, science sans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:41:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28235595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shatterflowerdemon/pseuds/Shatterflowerdemon
Summary: Sans and his date-mate aren't working out, to say it lightly. He comes home one day to an empty house. Another day, he finds you walking downstairs as if nothing happened. Why do you look and act so oddly?Who are you?
Relationships: Sans (Undertale)/Reader
Series: Perception [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2068212
Comments: 6
Kudos: 73





	Mirror me

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Reflection](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27309805) by [Lizzie_Tempest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizzie_Tempest/pseuds/Lizzie_Tempest). 



> Hey all! I got inspired to make this a series. I might make another installment to see how our good buddies are doing in the other realm. The grass sure is green, huh?
> 
> As always, my Tumblr: Shatterfowrdemon.
> 
> PSST: I take requests!

"I can't do this with you right now."

Sans watches them run off again. A deep sigh tears itself from his nonexistent throat. The front door slams and he hears the crank of an engine. They drive off. Sans listens to these noises, frozen in place. It always seemed to end like this. Resigned, he begins his routine. Wash bones, clean glasses, get dressed, eat, brush teeth, grab things, and leave. He repeats the steps in his head as he completes them. It's always better to focus on something else. If he didn't, he'd be thinking about how they'd leave him for good. He didn't want to think about that. 

Sans goes to work and still doesn't think about it. Not at all. He returns to an empty house. Their car is in the driveway. Dread threatens to smother him and rob him of everything he has. Sans shucks his coat off and hangs it haphazardly. His shoes land in a basket near the coat rack. After searching through the house, he concludes that they're not there. 

Sans doesn't sleep well that night. Not that he usually rests well. They're still not home in the morning. He laughs, but it's hollow. As if he should have expected them home. Sans couldn't remember the last time they had even shared a meal. He gets ready for work but forgoes the clip-on tie. No smiley french fries today. The trip to New Lab is bland. Sans doesn't bother stopping by to say hey to anyone. He checks in straight away and starts to chip away at his leftover paperwork. He hears Alphys enter the room. 

"Y-you uh, look l-like shit, Sans."

He snorts, "I feel like it too."

The door shuts behind the lizard monster. Sans can hear her scaled feet moving closer to his work desk. He doesn't bother looking up from his work. There's no point, really, she'd give him the 'concerned work friend' chat, and then they'd work until lunch. Easy, Simplistic, routine. It almost felt like when he had first worked in the lab. Minus a missing party, of course. Sans reminded himself not to think about the missing royal scientist and promptly shoved that thought train into a metaphorical box. Sans erases where he had unconsciously written the word 'Gaster' on the form in front of him. 

"S-Sans, I'm w-worried about you. I-I don't w-want to pry b-but, this isn't h-healthy," Alphys says. Of course, it's not. He knows it isn't. No one has ever accused Sans of being emotionally intelligent, though. He cracks a joke, but it falls flat. How fitting, he thinks. One other thing to add to the 'Sans can't do shit' pile. Maybe he should rent out a storage unit somewhere to store his baggage. Hey, that might be funny if he goes to an airport. Or not. 

"ns- Sans!" Alphys jerks him out of his reverie. His pen skitters across the page. It takes conscious effort to unclench his fist. 

"Hm? What's up?" Sans asks nonchalantly. He just wants to get this over with. Then again, going home isn't ideal. Maybe he could go to Grillby's? Sure, they'd be pissed at him for it, but what didn't make them mad? Sans felt a pang of longing for his old haunt. When did he stop making time for it?

"Go home, Sans." Not a request, or question, a command. Alphys' expression is tight with concern, and he knows she won't let this go. It's too difficult to view her concern head-on. He looks at the charts on the wall. Alphys may not loom over him or be very intimidating, but her voice is steely. 

"You need to go home. Honestly, I hate the relationship you're in but, you're not in stripes. Get it together, please," Alphys commands. Wow, Sans thinks absentmindedly, he must really look like shit. He doesn't bother thinking about the relationship part. Nope, no time to think. 

"Well, you know me, Al," Sans winks stiffly, "I won't say no to a day off." She doesn't laugh. Not that he expected her to. She could definitely see how desperately he was trying to keep himself from falling apart. Nope, back into the box. Sans sluggishly gets his shit together, drained from- work, yeah, work. Alphys makes sure to watch him actually exit the building. He didn't teleport. He knew returning would be futile. Alphys was no idiot and would prime the motion sensors as soon as possible. Sans walks home. Something painful twists his soul when he passes the route that would take him to his favorite restaurant. Sans keeps walking forward. Papyrus calls him when he's walking into the driveway. Their car is still gone. Sans feels like his head is stuck underwater. What did paps say, again? He can't remember when he passes out on the couch, either. 

The front door slams shut. Sans' eyelights don't flicker on immediately. Oh, but when they do? Pain. It swells inside him so forcefully he thinks that it will burst his soul. Turns out he hadn't hit rock bottom before. Sans didn't know what he should have expected. It wasn't pleasant to see your partner come home with very visible hickies, a backward top, and a jacket that doesn't belong to anyone in your household. This was rock bottom. 

They don't bother attempting to justify their actions. No, never, they couldn't. The silence that stretches between them could be cut with a scalpel and placed on a microscope slide. Maybe then this would all make sense. Yeah, talk about a misery business. That sounded right up Sans' alley. Sans could see the sign now, 'Shatter a cynical skeleton's life even further, half off today only!'. 

"Hey," he offers dumbly. It's far off from anything else that would be more productive to say. Anything he ached to say would start another argument, though. Sans didn't know what Papyrus called about earlier, and he didn't want to risk him walking in on anything so, so, pitiful. Because that's what it was. Something to invoke pity because Sans can't call it quits and allows himself to be dragged along like a corpse hanging to the back of a truck by a rope. Hah, corpse. Fitting for multiple reasons. Sans couldn't be more dead inside or out if he tried. 

Sans watches their expression tighten in annoyance. "I'm not doing this today, Sans," they say with vitriol. It practically litters their larynx like tissue paper. Sans watches them walk sharply through the house. They stuff cash, clothes, and hygiene items in a bag. Sans feels like his bones are frozen to the couch. There's no point in trying as they hastily zip the bag up and redoes their hair in a stray mirror. 

"Bye," he whispers hoarsely to the door when it slams shut. Twenty minutes pass as he stares blankly ahead. Papyrus texts him and thanks Sans for his advice earlier. He has no fucking clue what he's talking about. Whatever. He messages him back something bland and passes out on the couch again. 

Sans throws himself into his work the next day. It's better to be productive when you have virtually nothing else going for you in life. Papyrus didn't count, of course. Alphys makes no comment on anything she observes but makes a pointed effort to give him her spare sea tea. 

Their car is gone when he comes home. That's not what gets to Sans. No, it's the emptiness. Memories, old promises, and comforts. Robbed away, somehow. Sans dumbly ponders what size U-haul was used. A walk around the house shows Sans what he missed. A dish he didn't use lies in the sink, and the laundry detergent is missing. Their belongings are wiped out of the house. Sans spots polaroids on the floor of their once shared bedroom. The frames are missing. They didn't bother taking the dusty mirror upstairs. Half the towels are missing, and their nigh empty bottles were left untouched. 

Sans hefts a sigh and pulls out his phone. It's better to call about the mirror rather than be accused of its abandonment later on. Number no longer in use. He was already blocked on all of their socials. There's no one else to call. Sans leaves the attic. 

Days of radio silence pass. Sans doesn't have the heart to tell Papyrus outright why you weren't home. His little bro was smart enough to pick up on it but acknowledged it and moved on for his sake. Absolutely the coolest. 

Then, he sees you. Not that he knows it's you, of course. Work at the lab was tedious that day, mere protocol rather than scientific advancement. Sans' shoes have just hit the basket when you walk downstairs. You aren't carrying anything, so what are you here for? 

"Huh? Not that I don't mind seein' your face but, I didn't think you'd ever want to see mine again," Sans says. He notices you look uncomfortable. That's how he feels, too. Sans watches your eyes flit across his appearance. He chalks it up to you not seeing him for a while, as in really seeing him, glancing at him and leaving right after not counting. Sans looks at you, too. The hickies are gone, probably healed by monster food or covered with makeup. Your hair is noticeably longer than before, extensions maybe? Bags hang under your eyes. Barely concealed pain is etched across your face. Your gaze lands on the wall, and you fiddle with your hands. 

"Of course I'd come back, I'm sorry about what happened, and honestly, I'd like to move on?" You sound unsure. Sans decides to roll with it. He has nothing better to do. If an argument starts, you'll just leave again. Odd, he thinks. An apology? That's suspicious, that's weird. 

"Alright, heh, I can put on a movie while you grab snacks?" Sans asks. He watches you walk to the kitchen and sits down on the couch. What the fuck happened to you? A weird filling slits itself into his metaphorical gut. Sans loads Netflix and listens to you rummage through the cabinets. Why did you open and then shut three cabinets before grabbing the chips? He idly scrolls through the streaming app until he finds movies. His phalanges pause on the remote. How many were considered a coincidence, and how many made a pattern? Sans watches you set down a bag of chips and ketchup on the coffee table. That must be an odd bribe, then. You typically discouraged his ketchup drinking. 

He decides to fill the silence. "Whatcha wanna watch?" You point to a movie in a genre he knows you hate.

"That one, maybe? I heard good things about it," you say. What? You're playing a prank on him, right? Sans decided to flick over to a movie he knows you love. It made little to no sense in reality but was so bad it was almost pleasant.

"Hmm, I was kinda thinking about this one."

Sans can nearly feel his soul stutter when he hears what you say next. "Doesn't look like somethin' you'll like to be honest," You say. He turns his skull to look at you. Sans knows how creepy he must look right now, but he's bordering on a panic attack right now and couldn't care less. 

"Who are you?" he asks. Anxiety is apparent from the way you tense and your eyes refuse to meet his eye sockets.

"Your partner? Sans, are you okay?" 

Shit. What the fuck. Did you hit your head? Then again, you had acted like an understudy playing a role someone else knows better. Then there's the physical evidence. You remembered the ketchup he stopped buying but not the movie you watched before ketchup left the grocery list? Plus, you grabbed a flavor of chips you both disliked but kept in stock for some reason. 

"I don't have a partner."

You, whoever you are, gulp.

"Well, there's one difference between our realities, haha," you laugh nervously. Sans takes this in but stops himself from thinking about the implications of your statement. 

"Explain, please," he asks. Oh boy, do you explain. You tell him all about his dickwad of an alternative self. A mirror of himself, if what you said was correct. Sans remembers something that was once said to him. 'Mirrors lie as much as hands can.' He finds it hard to even comprehend what his other self put you through. Sans may not know you well, but what he heard was enough to pass a decent judgment on his alternate. Dickwad, he dubbed the other sans mentally. His soul pangs in empathy when you tell him of your ex-lover's flighty nature. He knew what that felt like. You recount it all, fighting, meeting your reflection (his ex, his mind whispers, the one that traded him in for a stranger.) You stop your story. Sans drags his hands from his forehead to where his zygomatic bones and maxilla meet. This situation was so fucked, for both of you. 

"I'm sorry, I still managed to hurt you, somehow. I always fuck up, and I can't seem to stop," you tell Sans. Urgency fills his bones. He swiftly turns the TV off and whips his body to face you. You and his ex may look alike, but there are enough differences for him. A swell of emotions bubble through him; empathy, sorrow, abandonment, pity, and anger. Instinct drives him to wrap his arms around you loosely. He doesn't know how else to comfort you. Hell, he probably needs this too. It seems like the right choice when you lean into the contact. Sans keeps his grip light. 

"My other self is a fuckin' idiot. I don't think I've ever hated myself more than I do now. He was so insecure and wrapped up in his bullshit to care about how he treated ya," Sans says. Irritation bites at his psyche. Dickwad deserved his ex, that's for sure. Sans wasn't usually one to form an opinion quickly, but this seemed like the perfect time. He notices but keeps quiet about your tears. A box of tissues slides over to the coffee table in a flicker of blue. 

Sans opens up about his ex, you, but not you. Everything is mentioned, more or less. He leaves out the irrelevant parts, like the cheating he couldn't quite prove. You open up to him more afterward. It's endearing how you talk with your hands when discussing things you feel strongly about. You tell him about the first time your ex-boyfriend left you hanging, and he tells you about the first time your other self came home late with no alibi. It isn't perfect, but it's a start. 

"Promise me," sans says, "that you won't obsess over the mirror."

You snort, but it sounds empty. "Alright, but only if you promise to look at it with me. I don't think I can bear to do it otherwise." 

Sans nods, "okay." Both of you discuss your cover story and decide your mirror self's belongings and residence is a lost cause. Literally, no one knows where any of it is. His ex didn't even tell any of their mutual friends that they had broken up. Papyrus sure did like that eventual phone call. He was proud that Sans and you were on better terms. You reminded Sans to eat, and he ignored how you flinched when he accidentally slammed an object. Namely, his toe into the edge of the coffee table. The damn thing seemed to be moving every time he went to work. You liked the almost redundant house tour he gave you, to his delight. The MTV Cribs shtick seemed to be a hit to his utter delight. Stars, you had a sense of humor! What the fuck was Dickwad's problem?

He held you the first time you both looked at the mirror and the next. Dickwad was such a dunce. Yeah, you really were better off here on this side of the mirror. Frankly, Sans was glad that you had taken his ex's deal. Let the two be together, while he could treat you better than either of them could. Sans started smiling more and looked forward to leaving work now. They could be happy on that other side of the mirror all they wanted to. Sans had found something to look forward to, someone who saw him for what he was, could have been, wasn't, and still wanted to be near him. 


End file.
